What's Left Here
by Melika Elena
Summary: Gale and Madge, a short series of scenes from beginning to end: "Before her, he saw a life—one with Katniss as his wife, of Sunday's hunting, of working in the mines. That life isn't terrible, he tells himself, but it's not a dream. It's not what he wants but what he expects. But when he's with Madge, he dares to want impossible things. Being with her makes it all seem possible."
1. Part One

**What's Left Here**

**Part One**

_During the 74th Hunger Games_

_"If you just realize what I just realized, that we'd be perfect for each other, and we'll never find another. Just realize what I realized—we'd never have to wonder, if we missed out on each other." – _Realize, _Colbie Caillat _

One Sunday at a quarter 'til three in the afternoon, Madge Undersee finds herself standing at the mirror in her bedroom, examining herself.

Her hair is pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck, long blonde tendrils swept over her right shoulder. She does not curl her hair; instead, she pulls it back with a grey ribbon, the bow simple and almost unnoticeable.

Make-up is disregarded, even the simplest of measures. She does not pinch her cheeks to bring them color, nor does she line her eyes with a dark pencil. Her one tube of lipstick, a gift from her sixteenth birthday, lays untouched.

She spends the most time picking out her clothing. Dresses are unacceptable. She rummages through her closet, trying to compile the perfect outfit. Dark wash shorts, a heather blue-grey blouse. The simplest, drabbest outfit she can find, though it is still better quality than most of her peers' clothing. Any accessories, even small studs in her ears or a single silver ring on her middle finger, are out of the question.

Like a checklist, she makes sure she looks presentable for her weekly guest. She will never be quite perfect, however; at least, not on this particular day. Her face is too flushed, a light sheen on her forehead and the bridge of her nose. It is a particularly hot day, and the moment Madge awoke that morning, perspiring and lethargic, she knew that it would be long and miserable. Coupled with the mandatory viewings of the game that evening, it would be something of a nightmare.

She cocks her head to the side. She wonders if it's enough. _Maybe he won't say anything to me now, _she thought. _Perhaps I'm invisible enough now. _

Three knocks, succinct, sound from the back door.

Madge makes sure her mother's door is completely closed and descends the staircase. She opens her backdoor, and is greeted with a blank stare that has only grown stonier since Katniss was reaped a week before.

The first thing that Madge notices is the tension in his body, a fatigue that would make a lesser man lean against the door in a bone-aching weariness, but not Gale Hawthorne. Madge has always admired how tall he stands, the pride and strength evident in every taut line of his lean body. She can't help but be worried for him, however. His clothes are heavy and dark, meant to protect him from the sticker bushes in the woods, but horrendous for such weather. His sleeves are rolled up and she can see the deep flush despite the dark skin.

"Hello, Gale," she says quietly, staring back at him.

Gale nods. "Madge," he says, and he licks his dry lips with a sandpaper tongue. He holds up a bag of strawberries. "It's a pound," he tells her.

"Thank you," she says quietly, gazing at him with big blue eyes he always thought were a little queer and strange, too all-knowing for his tastes. There's something about her that always put him on edge, that make him say things he tends to regret. He looks at her—despite the frivolity of having a white dress, he thinks perhaps she might be more comfortable in it.

"No dress today?" He calls after her as she turns away, gets the satchel of money in a locked drawer in the kitchen, counts what she owes him.

He does not miss the way she stills, flinches slightly. He frowns. "No," she says after a while. She does not turn. "There is no occasion that calls for it."

The first week of The Games is on that night. He wonders if she speaks deliberately, if it is a snub towards the Games—or of Katniss and Peeta as competitors.

He opens his mouth, ready to assume the worst, but scowls fiercely when he sees her return with his money and something else—a glass of ice water.

"What's this, Undersee?" He asks, angry.

"It's 92 degrees outside, Gale," Madge says, motioning to the thermometer hanging up outside of the back door. "Those clothes look heavy. You look warm. It's just a glass of water."

Gale looks at her, at the sink with clean water that runs hot and cold instantly, at the pristine girl in front of him. There is no hint of pity in her face, only kindness, but that angers him more.

"If I wanted water," he snaps, "I would've asked."

"No, you wouldn't have," Madge responds steadily, not raising her voice. "You would prefer to choke on your own pride and dehydrate in the middle of the streets than ask for water from me," she tries not to emphasize the last word so much. It wouldn't do either of them any good if she let on how much his hatred bothered her. "Take the water, Gale. You don't owe me anything. If anything, I'm doing this for selfish reasons." She gives a little half-smile that almost resembles a smirk. "I don't want people questioning why a man has collapsed on my back porch."

Gale gazes back at her, almost in shock. He's never heard so many words from Madge Undersee, and now he's left nearly reeling, again a bit unsure as to whether or not she's joking.

He reaches for the water slowly, almost afraid of making any sudden movements around her. Her outburst has transformed her into a skittish animal he doesn't know how to act around. Amused, she waits for him, the water still outstretched. He takes it slowly and their fingers brush.

Gale surprises himself by letting his fingers linger, and he realizes later that he liked the feel of her fingers, soft and tapered and strong, brushing against the callused pads of his. Madge lets him linger because she's too fascinated by the wondering look in his eyes when he looks at her.

He tips his head and the glass back, taking long, slow gulps. Madge tries to not watch his throat work. She turns her head away resolutely when she sees a bead of water escape the corner of his mouth and travel down his neck.

The glass that is returned to her is empty. She looks back. He looks like a wilting flower, rejuvenated by a long rain. "Thanks, Undersee," he says, a bit gruffly, pushing the glass back into her hand, gently. Their fingers brush again.

"You're welcome," she says, and perhaps if they were more familiar she would tease, him, say, _Now that wasn't so hard, was it? _But they aren't there yet. Maybe they never will be.

Gale clears his throat. "Here are your berries," he says, and she takes the little package, cradling it in one hand as she balances the change and the glass.

"Sorry," Gale finds himself saying, feeling a little bad about her plight.

"No worries," Madge assures him with a small smile, dropping the coins into his open palm. The tips of her fingers brush against his palm. He represses a shiver despite the heat.

They stand for a moment, and Gale wonders why he isn't turning around and leaving, like he always does.

"Will you be in the Square tonight?" Madge asks quietly. The Capitol always has a big projector set up in the middle of each district so that citizens can watch on a larger screen, that even if they're outside their homes they can't miss the viewing. In District 12, most people prefer the privacy of their own homes, where they at least can look away from the screen and no one will know, but unfortunately, most of the TV sets, particularly in the Seam, don't work, so the poorer citizens are forced to watch their children and friends (since they are usually from the Seam) compete, unable to look away.

"Yes," Gale says, and his fists tighten. "And you?"

"Yes," Madge says, and he is surprised.

"Why?" He asks. "Can't you watch it here?"

Madge gives a small, sad smile. "My father will be at the Square, anyway. My mother will probably be—" She breaks off. "I would probably end up watching it alone," she says quietly. "And this is something that perhaps would be better watching with others."

Gale looks at her closely at this sliver of vulnerability in her face. She is pampered and spoiled, to be sure. He doesn't respect her, or like her, but he is intrigued. There is pain there, there is suffering, the emotions he knows best, like calling to like. Perhaps it is that that calls to him, makes him say, "You can come find me, if you want. I'll be—with Katniss's family."

They are both surprised, but he can't help but feel a twinge of pleasure at the shy, surprised smile that breaks across her face, like sunshine on an overcast day.

"I'd like that," she says. "Very much."

Gale clears his throat, uncomfortable. "I do owe you," he mumbles, but it's a half-hearted excuse and they both know it, although Madge is unsure as to why he invited her. She is smart enough not to ask.

"I'll see you tonight," she says, sensing the inevitable close.

Gale nods, and then turns around and leaves.

Madge doesn't mind that he doesn't say good-bye.

000

**Author's Note: **I lost the outline to _Spoils of the Victor, _so to keep my Gadge juices running, I've started this! This shouldn't be more than five parts, tops. Thanks for being patient with me, folks! Graduating college is stressful as hell. I appreciate your support loads.


	2. Part Two

**What's Left Here**

**Part Two**

_During the 74th Hunger Games_

_"Weary, tell me will you hold me? When wrong, will you scold me? When lost, will you find me?" – _Will You Be There, _Michael Jackson_

Their TV went out again, which is a shame, because Gale hates the fact that he'll have to watch the end to the Games in the Square, with about a million different eyes on him. He recognizes that such privacy never existed, anyway—as Katniss's "cousin", there is a tacit understanding that he will be in the Square with Prim and Mrs. Everdeen to witness the end—whether it's for the end of Peeta, Cato, or Katniss, he can't be sure.

He can honestly say—at least, if only to himself—that he isn't dreading being in the Square as much as the others thought he was.

If he's being even _more _honest with himself, it's because Gale knows that fully watching the Games in the Square provides one comfort that half-watching it at home doesn't—a blonde, big-blue eyed slip of a girl who always keeps him guessing in her odd, quiet way—but he can only be so honest. He keeps that part hidden away, for now. The idea of having to stress over not just Katniss and Peeta's supposed love affair (Is it real? Not real? He can't even tell-), but his confusing friendship with Madge Undersee, would be too much to take.

He can admit that he enjoys seeing her, that watching the Games with her does bring him some peace of mind. She's a good companion, and it's hard not to like her (he can admit that, grudgingly, too). Prim always likes seeing her, and Madge always stands in the middle of Gale and Prim, one hand holding on to Prim's. Gale notices they squeeze the other's hand when Katniss fights for her life—several times—and after the viewings for the night he's always tempted to take their hands and his and massage the blood back into them.

His mother was initially surprised at her presence, even more so when she discovered he was the one who suggested it. She was a bit wary concerning the town girl, but once she recognized Madge's quiet humility and her unfailing politeness, Hazelle's demeanor quickly changed. She is warm and motherly to the petite blonde, something that Gale suspects pleases Madge. Posy in particular is fascinated with her, and Madge endures all of Posy's questions with unfaltering grace. Rory only has eyes for Prim, but Gale is a bit amused and disturbed to see that Vick has developed a bit of a crush on Madge, who seems flattered, but isn't quite sure how to handle his attentions. It occurs to Gale that perhaps she's never had a beau, (though he can't count his nine-year-old brother as a beau, really,) and is unused to any real attentions at all. That knowledge makes something in his chest tighten, just a little, but he doesn't bother to think on why that is.

Everyone in the Square is particularly tense—it's Day 18 of the Games, and everyone senses that tonight will be the last night. The Capitol doesn't like the Games to go longer than three weeks, and this is hitting right on the mark. Plus, considering only Cato is left—and barely at that—everyone knows that Katniss and Peeta are hours, if not minutes, away from victory.

Gale couldn't sleep the night before, tossing and turning, thinking about Katniss on top of the Cornucopia, bleeding out, clinging to a dying Mellark, while Cato's moans and whimpers intermingled with the snarls of the Mutts down below. He was sure he would have heard if something else had happened during the night, if perhaps Katniss had… but he didn't trust the Capitol. Perhaps they meant to spring it on him and the Everdeen's, like a surprise, eager to get their reactions.

He doesn't realize how tense he is until he sees Madge, already at the Square. She gives him a big smile, and although there is a slight tension around her eyes, his shoulders slump in relief. Capitol reporters and guests invaded the Undersee household weeks before, and although Madge told him, in so many words, how much she loathed their presence, they did have inside information that Madge eagerly uses to their advantage, whispering secrets to Gale about what's going on in the Capitol, or rumors about what the Gamemakers have planned up their sleeves. Sometimes she's right, sometimes she's not, and sometimes—the worst times—Gale has the feeling she isn't telling him everything she knows. But for some reason, he restrains himself from asking, instinctively recognizing that would only push her away. Her secrecy doesn't bother him as much as it should.

_She's smart, _he thought, walking towards her, unaware of the smile that lights up his own face. _Smarter than anyone gives her credit for._

"Hello," she says as everyone draws near, her eyes flickering to the group behind Gale, his siblings, mother, and the Everdeen's.

They exchange greetings before the crowd parts, letting the Everdeen's, Hawthorne's, and Madge move to the front towards the screen. Gale would have loved to stay in the back, but when one's best friend (and "cousin") iss a finalist in the Games, that simply isn't an option.

"You okay?" Madge asks him quietly, nudging his shoulder as they wait for the black screen to turn on.

It's a stupid question but he doesn't have the energy to even tease her about it. Instead, he shrugs. "Not great," he says honestly.

"Me either," Madge says. "Even though I know… they only have a little while to hold on. Cato should be dead soon."

"Do you think there's a chance they could die before then?" Gale whispers, not wanting anyone else to overhear.

"Well…" Madge says slowly, swallowing nervously. "Possibly. Peeta is… not well off, even with the medicine Katniss got for him." She says this cautiously, knows it's still a raw wound with Gale that Katniss risked her life for a boy she barely knows. "And Katniss… she's not doing well either."

"I just have a bad feeling," Gale mutters. "It feels too easy almost." He feels awful saying the words, knowing that their journey was anything but easy, but he can't better articulate his feelings of unease.

Madge furrows her brow. "I haven't heard anything else," she says slowly, "but I can't assume that lowly Capitol reporters have all the inside information." The screen flickers on and she turns worried eyes to it. "We'll just have to wait and see."

In the Arena, it's mostly dark with a slight pink in the horizon, a delayed dawn. Katniss and Peeta are atop the Cornucopia, clinging to each other, shivering with exhaustion and cold and shock. Below the Mutts still tear at Cato's body-armored flesh, or what little is left of it. Katniss and Peeta flinch every time Cato moans.

After a while they watch Katniss stand on shaky legs, with her bow and arrow, find Cato's bloodied face in the opaque darkness. "Please," he whispers to her, and Gale can feel Madge tremble beside him.

When she kills him, the Mutts disperse, but Madge is still trembling. Odd, Gale thinks, she never has had such a visible reaction to anything in the Games before, not during any of the other death's, or, in Katniss's case, near deaths. She cried for Rue, holding Prim as they both cried for the gentle girl, and he could even, remarkably, see her holding back tears for Thresh's death, but otherwise she remained silent, almost stoic, in the face of bloodshed. He never saw her flinch, or shy away. He is impressed by her strength, and moved by it in a way he can't explain.

He should be looking at the screen, but he can't help but look at her, how she wraps her arms around herself to try and stop her shivering. He realizes with a jolt of sadness that she's holding herself.

His fists clench at his sides and he realizes he wishes that he could hold her himself. The realization only brings him a new shade of misery, and he refuses to dissect _that _any further.

Gale is so distracted by her that he is startled when hears the booming voice on the screen that announces that, upon further examination, that there can only be one winner. Madge gasps, her free hand coming to cover her mouth, the other clutching Prim's shaking hand.

Gale's eyes fly to the screen: Katniss and Peeta, having gingerly slid off of the Cornucopia, were waiting by the lake for the hovercraft to pick them up, and now look at each other in horror. Peeta is the first to move, and it sends Katniss on the defense, immediately reaching for her bow and arrow.

"Do it, Katniss," Gale finds himself whispering, although the moment he does it he feels a sharp pain in his side from guilt. He may not like Mellark, but even he doesn't deserve this.

To everyone's surprise, she drops her bow and arrow, looking ashamed. "Katniss," Gale hisses out between clenched teeth, a sharp rebuke she can't hear.

"Do it," Peeta says with a sad smile, and both Madge and Gale and all of Panem can see the melancholy and love shining in his eyes. To his credit, Mellark tries to convince her to kill him, but Katniss refuses.

She even tells him to kill her, going so far as to shoving the weapons back at him.

Gale can't bear to look at Prim right now.

He almost loses it when Peeta, ripping off his meager bandages, allowing his wound to flow freely, is immediately accosted by Katniss, who drops to her knees and tries—futiley—to stop the bleeding.

"You're not leaving me here alone," she says, and her voice catches with desperation. Gale's heart breaks.

To his right, Madge makes a strangled noise, hands clasped on her mouth, and he doesn't think, but reacts, reaching up to her face, fingertips brushing her jaw, grabbing her left hand and cradling it in his larger one before she begins to grip his fingers so hard he can swear he hears them crack. He does the same, knowing dimly that it may hurt her but too upset to consider it further. They draw from each other, anchoring each other in this horrible reality.

Madge welcomes the pain, the wince, it keeps her focused, it keeps the emotional pain at bay. Katniss is one of her only friends and Peeta was one of her best friends, at one point when they were younger—to lose one seems unbearable.

Until Katniss takes out the berries, whispers for Peeta to trust her, and Madge hears Gale let loose a moan of anguish. On her right, Prim is silent, but shaking, and Madge squeezes Gale's hand one last time, reluctantly, her fingers relishing being enclosed in his, and goes to stand behind Prim, wrapping her arms around the shoulders of the younger girl, her chin going on her shoulder. Prim's arms come up and clutch hers, and Gale, glancing over, thinks briefly that they could have been sisters in another life.

They tremble together.

Madge trails her eyes over their faces, thinking about how losing one friend seemed—moments before—unbearable. To lose both is unimaginable, it seems beyond what she can stomach, although she knows that there are children like her, every year, who lose two friends to the Games. It is when she fixates her eyes on Katniss's does Madge tilt her head, puzzled and intrigued. She sees a gleam in Katniss's eyes—one that is beyond fear, beyond pain, beyond love, a queer sort of nervousness and uncertainty that seems unnatural in such a situation. It's calculating almost, and disconcerting. If she can see that gleam, who else can?

The countdown is unbearable, and the whole crowd jumps noticeably—Capitol reporters included—when Templesmith's voice booms through the arena, frantic, declaring them both winners. The District is almost too cautious to cheer, but Gale can hear Greasey Sae let out a big whoop and the rest of the District follows suit. Prim is in shock, but she turns in Madge's arms and gives her a hug, sobbing, with joy and pain and fear and love.

"It's over," Prim whispers to Madge.

Madge tightens her arms around Prim, thinks about the gleam in Katniss's eyes. She doesn't think so.

Before she can ponder it further, she sees Prim's eyes focus on something over her shoulder. "Gale," she whispers.

Madge whirls around, and sees him stumbling away, towards the Meadow. His gait is stiff and unnatural, and he looks unsteady. His fists are clenched and his shoulders look hunched around his ears. If the situation wasn't so horrible he would have looked ridiculous, almost like a caricature.

"Go to him," Prim says, putting her shoulder on Madge's shoulder. "I'll be okay." Madge wonders briefly—why her? But when she finds Mrs. Hawrthorne's eyes, the older woman nods in agreement, and Madge takes off, trying to hold it together by walking briskly and discreetly away. When she reaches the edge of the Square she abandons pretenses and runs as fast as she can to him.

000

He knows he should care about the Capitol reporters looking for him, wanting a comment from Katniss's handsome cousin, should be taking care of his mother and his siblings, thinks about the promise (he thinks of the word bitterly) he made to Katniss to take care of her family and watch over them; he thinks of Madge and is embarrassed she has seen him in such a state.

The meadow is as serene as always, seemingly impervious to the death and pain around it, and Gale stumbles into the dirt, feeling the grains under his fingers calms him in a way, but he still can't get over Katniss, how she blatantly chose a bumbling town boy over her sister, over her family, over _him_ and even though she's coming home, it's not enough. Her choice opened up a wound that can't be mended simply with her life. It's not enough anymore. He feels the anger sweep through him gradually, a slow burn.

Sometimes his own anger scares him. It creeps upon him when he is feeling the most enraged, at life and the Capitol and his situation, at the unnecessary pain and suffering everyone in the District- and Panem- has to endure while those in the Capitol lead privileged and opulent lives. He feels it in his blood, feels his heart speeding up uncomfortably until he can feel the pulse in his neck throb rapidly, like his heart is in his throat and he can't push it back down. The rage pulses through him, infecting his blood stream, until he can't think straight. He wants to kill, he is a Mutt created by the Capitol, he knows nothing but blood and death and destruction. He can hear the Capitol's whisper in his ear, to just give in. He is consumed by anger and anguish and pain.

Tonight is no exception.

Its hold over him is excruciating, and he gasps as though he is choking, as though he has been drowning below water and has just resurfaced, and he pulls himself out of his episode.

He hunches over, wrapping his arms around his knees, similar to what he did as a child when he was upset, and buries his face in between his knees. He does not cry but breathes deeply and slowly, trying to focus on his heartbeat as opposed to thinking about Katniss.

No matter how hard he tries, though, he can't get himself to calm down. He realizes dimly that he's shaking, just like Madge was, and like Madge, has no one to hold but himself.

He stills suddenly when he hears something moving towards him in the long grass. Normally he would be up on his feet, ready for a fight, but he can't seem to move, curling into himself, trying to make his large frame seem smaller.

Madge stumbles and sighs in relief when she sees him, and he relaxes, knowing it's her, but still can't bring himself to look at her. He's too ashamed.

"Gale," she calls sweetly, but he won't look up. She drops to her knees before him, the skirt of her pale dress fanning across the grass like wings.

She takes his fingers, stiff and unyielding on his knees, and he lets her, and he lifts his head up in shock when the Mayor's daughter brings them to her lips and kisses them, a breath of life.

"I'm here," she says to him, and her eyes implore so much more. "You're not alone."

She kisses his fingers again and something in him dies, but in its place something else is reborn.

"Madge," he whispers desperately, voice strangled.

His legs slide out, his hands reach for her, and she goes willingly, without hesitation, folding herself into his arms as if she did so all the time, and he holds her as if she was meant to be there all along. He holds her tightly to him, his cheek pressed to her hair, and she wraps her arms around his strong waist and suppresses a delighted shiver at being in his arms, snug against his lean body. He presses a kiss to her hair and makes a conscious choice not to regret it, tonight or any other.

They hold each other the rest of the night, their trembling ceased, calmed by the thrum of each other's heartbeats.


	3. Part Three

**What's Left Here**

**Part Three**

_The Victory Tour_

"_You're in my arms, and all the world is calm. The music playing on, for only two… And when I'm with you, so close to feeling alive." – _So Close, _Jon McLaughlin_

When it comes to Gale Hawthorne, Madge Undersee has learned over the years that one must have certain expectations. She expects disdainful eyes when she opens the door for a trade. She expects a frown that deepens into a scowl when he sees what she's wearing. She expects him to drop her like a flaming piece of coal once Katniss is back from the Games. She expects fire and resiliency and a hard, unyielding sort of quality about him. As if he is unbreakable.

Over the past few weeks, her expectations have shifted—not entirely, but enough in a way that matters. And perhaps they're not expectations, _per se_, but they are things that were once kept tightly locked in her deepest fantasies and dreams, and now can be let out into the light. How he's been acting towards her gives her hope—when it comes to Gale Hawthorne, Madge Undersee has hope, and that in itself is a precious thing.

She hopes that what small connection they've accrued during the Games isn't severed so abruptly. (It isn't.) She hopes that when he sees her, at her back door, around town, or even coming to and from the Everdeen's in the Seam, his eyes light up. (They do.) She hopes his shoulders relax, she hopes they'll talk a little bit—about their lives, his in the dark mines, hers in her stifling home. (They do.) She hopes he can see her worry for him, but not her adoration. (He sees it all.) She hopes he thinks much better of her than he once did. (He does.) She hopes they're friends. (They are.)

Katniss has just left for the Victory Tour, and although they are not obligated to watch the Tour like they did the Games, they are highly encouraged to, and, in a show of solidarity, what seems to be the entire district comes out to the Square again to watch. Madge likes to stop at the edge of the crowd, her eyes on Gale's tall figure in the middle, because she likes to watch the way his silver eyes scan the crowd. She's neither stupid nor modest enough to deny that he's looking for her. A shot of pleasure, like a sunbeam breaking through a cloud, darts through her whole body.

The night at the Meadow changed things. He is still guarded around her, to be sure—she's never anticipated winning Gale Hawthorne's trust quickly—but there is a softening to him when she's around. He doesn't relax, not completely, but he knows now that he doesn't have to be so on edge with her.

When he comes to her door on Sunday afternoons—his only day off from the Mines—with whichever berry is in season—he stays for a little while. They go into her kitchen and she fixes him a glass of lemonade, sometimes cutting up a few of the strawberries he brought her to sweeten the glass. He narrows his eyes at her, and his mouth twists, but he smirks and takes a huge gulp anyway. His lips close around a strawberry and the juice makes his lips red until he licks it away. Madge never learns to avert her eyes completely.

His smirk grows bigger.

The first night that the Tour is broadcasted—when Katniss and Peeta are visiting District 11, Rue and Thresh's district—things shift again. Although the camera is abruptly cut, they can still see the violence erupting, the old man forced to his knees, the chaos, the shots to the crowd. It's the Games all over again, and the last flash they see is Katniss's strong, angry, heartbroken face and the fear in Peeta's eyes as they are herded away.

Prim breaks down in tears as Madge's father tells everyone via the microphone that they can go home now, but before Madge can reach Prim, Rory, to everyone's surprise, puts his arms around her. Hazelle and Gale raise their eyebrows momentarily in stunned expressions, but both look impressed at his boldness. Gale looks over to Madge for her reaction, a habit now, and he is unprepared by her shaking countenance again. Tears run down her face; he assumes she is devastated, and she is, but she is also so angry and feels so useless that the only way she can express these emotions is through her tears.

Gale, perhaps thinking of Rory and Prim, perhaps not, puts his arms around her. If he had been looking, he would have seen Hazelle's eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. As it is, he focuses on the blonde in his arms.

"Hey," he tells her, pressing her face into his shoulder, his mouth muffled in her hair. It's like the crowd melts away. "They're fine, okay? Shhh."

He holds her like she's Posy, and she doesn't want him to get the wrong impression, think that she's crying out of weakness instead of anger, but her body wracks again and she gasps a large sob.

"Do you want to go home?" He murmurs as his arms tighten. He can't seem to let her go, even though he knows he should. People are beginning to stare; he can feel the world come back to him. He wonders if her father's looking—or her mother, propped up in a chair and exhausted, but doing her duty as the mayor's wife.

Madge lets out a shuddering sigh and her tears begin to dry, but she feels exhausted, drained, hopeless. It's one thing to be a semi-active part of the Resistance, to aid her father and Haymitch in scoping out information and discussing strategy, but to see such brutality outside of the Games makes her feel like she isn't really doing anything at all. That things will never get better. And she's tried so hard for so long not to get caught up in that hopeless mentality that the rest of the districts have settled into these long, long decades, but things seem to be spiraling out of control. Though the unprecedented Hunger Games is a long-planned, long-hoped for victory, it seems unreal that so many months and years of planning have come to fruition, and that everything suddenly seems to be going in motion is both exciting and frightening. And of course, there's this unexpectedly awful Tour in District 11 the Resistance must contend with, and the whispers that workers in District 8 are planning an uprising…

"Yes," she says finally. "I would like that very much." Gingerly, she disentangles from his arms, not registering their reluctance to let her go. Even though Prim is in Rory's arms, Madge gives her a sideways hug and a friendly embrace to the frail Mrs. Everdeen. She gives Hazelle and Vick and Prim a watery smile and then she turns to Gale. Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed. "Thank you," she whispers, and then she goes to move away.

Gale frowns to himself, and before he even registers what he's doing, he grabs her hand. "You're not leaving by yourself," he tells her.

Madge raises a brow. "My house is only a few minutes away," she says. "I'll be fine."

Gale shakes his head. He knows this, of course, but he just can't seem to let her go.

"Let me walk you," he says bluntly. "You're still upset."

"I'll be fine," she says again, frowning at his commands.

"Why won't you let me help you?" Gale demands, _like I let you help me._

Madge's shoulders tense. She misunderstands, though not unfairly so, that he is offering merely to repay a debt, not out of any other kindness. "I don't need your help," she snaps.

Gale's shoulders droop, his jaw unclenches. "Madge," he says softly, as though admitting defeat, "I _want _to walk you home."

She sees his surprising earnestness, and relents. She really has no sense when it comes to him, although she can't say she minds.

They walk slowly back to her house, not touching, but incredibly aware of the other person. Madge suspects that both of her parents will be cooped up in her father's office, no doubt discussing plans with Heavensbee or Haymitch, so she invites Gale in with no hesitation.

He raises his eyebrows at the grandeur of the house, but perhaps he's learned some tact, after all, because he doesn't comment.

Madge sees his face anyway and sighs. "You know my family didn't have anything to do with the design or décor of this house, right?" She says. "It's the _Mayor_'s house, not the Undersee family house."

Gale nods, feels a bit ashamed. The Undersee's hadn't always lived in the grand manor, it just seemed that way because Mayor Undersee was elected when right before Madge started school.

They toe off their shoes and Madge trails into what Gale recognizes as a family room. It's towards the back of the house, near the kitchen, and out of the way enough that during parties and when Capitol guests are over no one bothers to come into the little room, so unlike the rest of the large house.

Madge's mother must have decorated it, and Gale is surprised by how much he likes her taste. The walls are a warm golden yellow, and the couch is more comfortable than fashionable, with plump pillows and hand-knitted blankets adorning it. Instead of the gleaming baby grand piano in the front sitting room, a smaller one with a scratched, dark brown façade and faded yellow keys sits in the corner.

"Did you learn how to play on this one?" Gale asks her, running his hands lightly over the keys.

"Yes," Madge says, with such a fond look in her eyes it's as though she's looking at a living being. "In our old house. It's been in the Donner family—my mother's side—for ages. We're a musically inclined bunch, I hear."

"Will you play?" He asks her, the words bursting out like a long repressed wish.

"Now?" Her eyebrows raise slightly and she blinks once, twice.

Gale clears his throat, a bit embarrassed. "If you don't want to—"

"I will," she smiles at him, and hopes that he doesn't see the vein in her throat thrumming. She can feel it, how it leaps at him, a mimicry of her heartbeat. She can't let him see how much she cares.

It's tempting to let the piano speak for her, to pour her emotions out as she normally does, her hopes, her dreams, her wishes and despairs; but she ruthlessly squashes that urge and plays something slow and serene, thinks of a calm morning sunrise, with crisp air that 's cool and sweet.

Gale leans across the top of the piano, watching her fingers skip smoothly across the keys and takes her in. Today she is wearing a dress, a light, filmy thing that reflects the warm summer day. It's a pearl blue and doesn't match her eyes at all, with more grey in it than blue, but brings them out anyway. The piano is situated next to the window that faces the backyard and the western sun is rich as it lingers in the summer twilight, catching the gold of her hair and the easy smile on her face. She enjoys playing, he can tell, and he enjoys watching her.

He has a sudden image flashing in his mind, disturbingly detailed and realistic. They're in a room, like this one, not terribly big, but well-furnished and comfortable. Madge is sitting at a piano—not the one she's at now, but one that is also well-loved—and she's playing the same song. He is in a chair nearby, a large, comfortable one, and he is fiddling with something—either a book or some paperwork, but every once in a while he'll look up and their eyes will meet and they'll smile at each other, not speaking, but utterly content.

He snaps out of the scene as quickly as he went into it, and he's struck dumb for a long moment; he looks at Madge and sees a vision of a life he suddenly knows he wants desperately but never thought he could have, never dreamed he could have. Before her, he saw a life—one with Katniss as his wife, of Sunday's hunting, of six days in the Mines, of watching his siblings grow up and marry and watching over his mother. That future isn't terrible, he tells himself, but it's not a _dream_. It's not what he wants so much as what he expects. But when he's with her, he dares to want impossible things. Being with her makes it all seem possible.

Madge finishes and looks at him expectantly, her hands folded in her lap. "Did you—" She clears her throat, tries again. "What did you think?'

"Not bad," Gale says with a daring little smirk that he doesn't feel.

She rolls her eyes in response.

"It was…" Gale can't think of the right words to say. Hearing her play gave him something he thought he had lost a long time before. Hope. "You're really good," he says lamely instead.

"I'm glad you liked it," she says sincerely.

Gale gazes out the back door and sees the sun is nearly gone. "I need to go," he says.

Madge nods and walks him out to the back door. "I'll see you for the next viewing?" She asks quietly.

He surprises himself when he feels a little lurch in his stomach at the thought. He recognizes the anticipation and while he's a bit frightened by it—by how it's directed at her, of all people—he doesn't shy away from it; he doesn't push it from his mind. He's run from these feelings for a while now. It's hard to ignore how much he wants her now that he knows her; it was easier before, to dismiss it as something trivial. But now he knows what he feels is real. He gives in to his wants and admits it: he wants to see her and talk to her and—and more. He wants it all.

So instead of turning around and leaving, he smiles down at her, and Madge sees a tenderness there that surprises her. It should look out of place on him, this man who is already so hardened, but it doesn't. If anything, oddly, it looks more natural than his anger.

Before her, Gale has never thought about Town girls romantically, not seriously, anyway. In his mind, such a pairing couldn't work, like two puzzle pieces that can't fit together. He would think of Katniss's parents and the thought of someone from the Seam and someone from Town seemed wrong, even unnatural. And yet, when he leans down, with his usual simple decisiveness, and kisses Madge Undersee on her back porch at dusk, nothing has ever felt so right or natural to him; nothing else at all.


End file.
